Hannah works as the only female river-rafting guide in her closed-minded small town. Labeled a tomboy, she often struggles to reconcile the way she fits into normal gender stereotypes.
Then, Hannah meets Ezra, who blurs the lines between woman and man. They begin an exciting new relationship, but soon Ezra starts pushing Hannah’s limits and her definition of love.
ISBN: 9781538382790
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Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Specksgoor, Meg.
Title: I am water / Meg Specksgoor.
Description: New York : West 44, 2020. | Series: West 44 YA verse Identifiers: ISBN 9781538382790 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781538382806
(library bound) | ISBN 9781538383407 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Children’s poetry, American. | Children’s poetry, English. | English poetry.
Classification: LCC PS586.3 S643 2020 | DDC 811’.60809282--dc23
First Edition
Published in 2020 by
Enslow Publishing LLC
101 West 23rd Street, Suite #240
New York, NY 10011
Copyright © 2020 Enslow Publishing LLC
Editor: Caitie McAneney
Designer: Seth Hughes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer.
Printed in the United States of America CPSIA compliance information: Batch #CS18W44: For further information contact Enslow Publishing LLC, New York, New York at 1-800-542-2595.
The Thing About Rivers
They have
a way
of f l o w i n g
through you
when
you’ve worked
on one
long enough.
Guide a river
for
a few years
and
it ends up
guiding
you.
1
The Way It Moves
People climb
in my boat
every day.
I introduce myself—
Hi, I’m Hannah.
They are eager-eyed.
Wearing
wet suits.
Nervous
excitement.
They understand
the thrill
in
the moment.
But
they don’t
understand
the way
the water
winds its way
into
my veins.
Creating channels
that feed
into
my heart
like
a stream.
2
My Guests
I guide families
with children
who watch
each drop
and bend
with a
mix
of
fear
and
joy.
Students
from
the inner city
whose feet are
confident
on concrete,
but
unsure
in
moving
water.
Men and women
on dates or
anniversaries.
Going well
or poorly.
3
Boy Scouts
looking
to prove
their
grit.
Earn
their
merit badges.
And everyone
in
between.
The water
does not
judge.
Only
punishes
the ones
who
don’t
respect
it.
4
September
The man
in the
front of
my raft
is a
scoutmaster.
Easily
twice
my age.
The water
silvers
the hair
under his
wide
hat.
I turn
the bow
to steer
toward
river left.
My hands
firmly grip
my
guide stick.
He corrects me
with
a stroke on
the right.
5
Like he’s
been doing
for an hour.
Typical.
“Stop steering
my boat,”
I half
command,
half
plead.
“That’s
my job.”
“I’ve been
canoeing
since
before you
were born.
So
I think
I know
what I’m
doing,”
he replies.
Gives
a smug
laugh.
“Great,
you know
the person
steers,”
6
I say.
I match
his snark.
He darts me
a quick look.
Like
who do you
think you are?
The way only
middle-aged men
talking to
high school girls
know how.
He is
about
to say
something
more. But
I yell
for
everyone
to
paddle
forward.
We’re
coming up to
the first of
three
Class III
rapids.
All in a row.
I’m going
7
to need
their cooperation
to keep
the boat straight.
His wife and
two sons
stroke for me.
Right on cue.
But
the father
slips in
a strong
back paddle
just before
a boulder.
It throws off
my control.
The bow
crashes
into the rock.
Water explodes.
His wife
is spilled
overboard.
The rapid
flushes her
through
two drops.
Kicking
and
crying.
Forgetting
8
every
rule
from the safety talk.
Remain calm.
Let the water
take you.
I finally
get her
back
into the boat.
Her face is as
white as
the top
of a
wave.
Her eyes
as big as
the holes
she
just
avoided.
The husband
rages
on
about my
lack of skill.
We
arrive
onshore
tired
and
defeated.
9
It is
always
men
who try
to run
a
river
for
me.
10
The Thing About High School
It isn’t
much different
sometimes.
Just a big,
unforgiving
river.
Full of boys
who will
grow up to be
silvery men.
Wearing
wide hats.
Thinking
their strokes are
always right.
Girls like
shiny pools with
bubbly laughs.
Boys smooth as
wave trains.
Leading
straight to whirlpools
you’ll never survive.
Then there’s
the rest of us.
11
The backwash.
We are
the eddies.
The edges
of river
outside
the mainstream.
We run
against
the natural
flow of things.
That’s where
the flotsam
meets
and curdles.
That’s where
the safety is.
But
also
where you
can get stuck.
Once in an eddy,
it can be
pretty difficult
to turn yourself
back into the current.
Once you
become an eddy,
you never run
with the fast
crowd again.
12
They blow
by you.
In a show of
spray
and sun gleam.
Rushing
unstoppably.
And you
catch
up.
That’s where
Sam and I
are.
13
Sam, the Arsonist
Sam has hair
that,
if it were
a temperature
instead of
a color,
would be
boiling.
Which fits
with his love
of fire.
He keeps a
purple lighter
in his
pocket.
He’s always
playing
with it,
even though
he doesn’t
smoke.
“Anxiety,”
he says.
The flame
puts him in
a calming trance.
He’s best known
in town
14
for burning down
his neighbor’s
shed.
Stray
homemade firework
one
Independence Day.
His parents
were
away.
I’m not sure
who started it.
But, since then,
folks here
call him
“Arsonist Sam.”
Or just
“Arsam”
for short.
It may be
a small dairy
and lumber town.
No
art gallery
or theater in sight.
But I guess
we’re not
completely
without
creativity.
I was
the first
to see
15
the
backyard blaze.
I ran,
panting.
Sam
was
staring
at the colors
in awe.
“Are you crazy?”
I screamed.
That broke
whatever
red-orange
spell
had
bewitched
his mind.
He
looked at me
slowly.
A
fire of
his own
glowed
within
his eyes.
It had been
an accident,
sure.
16
But he
wasn’t
terrified.
He almost
seemed
excited
about the
consequence.
“Yeah,
probably,”
he said.
“But
not as
crazy
as
my parents
will
be.”
The fire
in his eyes
blazed.
“At least now
they’ll have
to notice me.”
I grabbed
the hose.
Sprayed
the flames
licking
the side of
17
the shed.
Like waves
lapping
the side of
my boat.
He made
no move
to help.
Then,
once the only
colors
left on
the roof
were
black soot
and
white ash,
I turned the hose
on Sam.
And soaked
every
last
inch
of him.
“You have
so much
heat
inside you,
you’re going to
burn up
one day if
18
you’re not
careful.”
For a second
he looked like
he might kill me
then and there.
But the anger
in his face
melted to
a sly
sort of
respect.
“What did you say
your name was?”
That’s when
a friendship
was born
out of the balance
of a natural truth:
Water
puts out fire.
19
Water Dream #1
The night
before
the first day
of junior year,
I have a
water dream.
They come
and go.
Usually
to tell me
something
important.
The lens of
my sight is
aqua and
cloudy.
Just above
the river bottom.
The fish are
streamlining
through the current.
&
nbsp; But then
they start to
act strange.
Squirming
and darting.
20
Out of
nowhere,
I drift
straight into
a deposit
of dirt
and
a fallen tree.
There’s
no way
around or
under it.
I’m
tangled up
in the roots.
I go
deeper
and deeper
into
the twisted mess
of branches
and weeds
the more
I struggle.
I wake up
cold
and
clammy.
Something
is
coming.
21
An Entrance
We’ve
only gotten
through
first period
when Sam
finds me
in the
hallway.
He reaches
into his
coat pocket.
I can tell
he’s fiddling
with the lighter,
which he could
get suspended
for carrying.
His eyes are
flickering
like a
match.
“Have you
seen the
new kid?”
22
He doesn’t
have to
explain
much further.
Because
in a minute,
I see
him.
And know
instantly
that
this
is who
everyone
is
whispering
about.
23
An Impression
First of all,
he doesn’t
walk.
He strides.
Dark curls fall
across his forehead
with grace.
As much
as the
sheer purple scarf
with glittering
silver moons
beaming from
shoulder to
shoulder.
He wears a
black turtleneck,
straight cut jeans,
and heeled boots.
I swear
you’d be able
to hear them
from
the other end
of the hallway.
Even if
the other students
hadn’t gone
24
suddenly
mute.
A perfectly
arched
eyebrow
curves
like
a smirk.
Into
a dainty
metal hoop.
Beneath,
eyes greener
than
grass
catch mine
for
an instant.
And
he
passes
by.
One thing
is
for sure.
Whoever
he is,
he’s
not
from
here.
25
Detailed Reports
Rumors
circulate